


The Cigarette Afterward

by Marks



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Cigarettes, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-31
Updated: 2008-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon is easy when it comes to Ryan. There's no escaping that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cigarette Afterward

**Author's Note:**

> For sodamnquirky, who suggested Jon Walker deserved a little Ryan action, and Ryan's birthday, which was yesterday. I wrote most of it on his birthday so it totally counts. Hotel room PWP with bonus smoking fixation and extra-sappy Jon.

Jon slides the glass door open and walks out onto the hotel balcony, grinning at Ryan's back. It's not the sight of Ryan bent over the iron railing that makes him smile (okay, not _only_ that); he's just really that happy to see Ryan. He knows his reaction is ridiculous because they see each other all of the time but it's still new, this acknowledgment that what he'd been feeling is mutual. And, yeah, the drunken, spontaneous confessions followed by sober, awkward explanations make Jon feel like he's earned this happiness.

Ryan turns toward him and smiles lazily when Jon bumps their hips together in greeting, exhaling in a cloud of smoke and flicking ash over the side. It's just a cigarette in Ryan's hand, something Jon sees nearly every day. He shouldn't be getting turned on when Ryan holds it to his lips and inhales again. But well -- Ryan's mouth. Ryan's hands.

"It's nice out tonight," Jon says, making conversation even though his focus is going a little fuzzy watching.

"Mmm," Ryan agrees around the filter. The Parliament flares orange but it's almost burned down to nothing so Jon's torture will be over soon. Ryan turns his head and breathes out again, flicking the cigarette out into the darkness.

"Litterbug." Jon peers over the ledge but he can't see anything. Of course not, it was just a cigarette and even the people below look tiny from this height. "That probably landed in somebody's grandma's hair and now her head's on fire. You ever think about that?"

Ryan looks alarmed, his eyes going wide as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. _God_. "That can't really happen," he declares, an almost undetectable note of uncertainty weaved through his words. Good thing Jon's gotten so good at identifying change in Ryan's voice, which is totally something to be proud of. Jon laughs and makes a sudden grab for Ryan around his waist, pulling him back. Ryan whines like he's been robbed of his dignity but that doesn't stop Jon from dragging them back inside and flinging Ryan onto one of the beds.

Ryan bounces up and down on his back a few times, still trying to look mad but Jon can see that he's hiding a smile. He glares as Jon closes the door and pulls the blinds but when Jon climbs up and starts jumping, he laughs. Seriously, no one can resist a good jump on the bed, and Ryan dropped the unaffected act a long time ago. He stretches out one spindly arm and lets Jon pull him to his feet and they hop together and apart, running from one bed to the other, cracking each other up with fancy trampoline moves and funny faces.

"Watch," Jon says, bouncing high enough that he has to put his palms up so he doesn't conk his head against the ceiling. Then he leaps between the beds and does this totally awesome mid-air split thing, landing right in front of Ryan.

"Wow," Ryan deadpans, "that was a turn on."

Jon waggles his eyebrows and pulls Ryan toward him, lining up their hips. "You don't fool me, Ryan Ross. You're going to let me have my way with you, and it's going to be good."

"Promises, promises." Ryan's voice is still flat but Jon can hear the difference again, and well, Jon can feel. Ryan can be as monotone as he wants, but no guy can hide _that_ , least of all Ryan.

"I do promise," Jon says earnestly. He hops once more, flinging his legs out in front of him and lands on the bed on his back, raising his eyebrows at Ryan still looming over him. He bites his bottom lip and runs one hand down his chest and belly, jerking himself once through his pants before pulling them open, dragging the zipper down. "Unless you'd rather have your way with me."

Ryan kneels down then but doesn't say anything, doesn't touch, just watches and waits as Jon wiggles out of his jeans and underwear and throws his shirt onto the floor. Jon likes Ryan looking at him; Ryan has this intense way of fixating that makes Jon's face go hot, his pulse speed up, his chest ache. It doesn't matter that Jon has done this with Ryan before, his hand still shakes as he wraps his fingers around his cock and strokes, keeping his eyes locked with Ryan's the whole time.

"Jon," Ryan finally says. He looks surprised after, like he hadn't meant to say it out loud. Jon guesses that he's not the only one who still can't believe he's allowed to have everything he's wanted. But Ryan -- Ryan should get everything he wants. Always. Jon spreads his thighs and reaches up with his free hand to pull Ryan down roughly, his lips against Ryan's and tongue sliding inside Ryan's mouth in the space of a breath. Ryan tastes a little stale, the cigarette lingering on his tongue, and Jon remembers the old anti-smoking propaganda he heard when he was a kid. _It's like kissing an ashtray_. But Jon really doubts that he'd need to squeeze tight around his dick to stop himself from coming if he made out with an ashtray. He doubts he'd want more the way he always wants more with Ryan, no matter how close they are or how hard they kiss.

Ryan pulls back a little and stares down at Jon, his mouth wet, swollen red. "I'd let you have your way with me anytime." It comes out as a rush of words before Ryan is kissing him again, messy and wet, and it's so so good but that was too important for Jon to let it just slip by. He stops touching himself long enough to push Ryan back again and offers up an easy smile. And it is easy, this is all easy. Fuck, _Jon_ is easy when it comes to Ryan. There's no escaping that.

"Me too. I mean that," Jon says, fingers tracing over Ryan's throat. "I'd like that right now, in fact, but you need to be more naked first."

Ryan almost falls off of the bed when he scrambles back and off, but he manages to avoid any major injuries long enough to pull open the buttons on his shirt and tug his belt through the loops so fast that there's an accompanying _shoosh_ of noise. His pants are only in a puddle around his ankles for five seconds before he's making a mad dash for the bathroom, making Jon laugh and shake his head. Sex is such a stupid, wonderful thing, all of the naked rush before and all of the _naked rush_ during. He's always liked it -- duh -- but with Ryan it feels different. Like more. Maybe once the newness wears off Jon won't feel that way, but he kind of doubts it. After all, he'd waited a really fucking long time in the first place.

When Ryan comes back, tossing lube and a couple of condoms onto the bed, Jon can't take his eyes off of him. He even keeps his eyes open when Ryan kisses him again, eyes crossing a little as he threads his fingers through Ryan's hair. Ryan kneels back and Jon puts his hand on Ryan's thigh, rubbing his thumb back and forth.

"When I told you that I'd wanted you for a long time, how long did you think I meant?" Jon asks.

Ryan looks a little incredulous and Jon can't blame him, but he also thinks Ryan has a right to know. He pulls Ryan's hand to his mouth, sucking two fingers so far inside that he can feel them against the back of his mouth. It reminds him of sucking Ryan's cock, of pushing down restless hips with his hands, of watching Ryan open up and fall apart because of Jon's tongue.

"I don't know," Ryan says. His eyes are locked on Jon's mouth and there's a whine in his voice that wasn't there before. "I thought maybe the cabin? That's when I..."

Jon shakes his head and adds another finger. He knows that's when Ryan started looking at him, knows that because he remembers the very first flutter of hope happening after a too-long staring contest over guitars.

"Earlier?" Ryan moans as Jon pulls his wrist back so the pads of his fingers slide against Jon's tongue. "Last tour then?"

"No," Jon says, kissing Ryan's fingertips, and he laughs at Ryan's astonished confusion. It helps loosen the pit sitting heavy in his stomach; he's not used to laying so much out on the line. "Once there was this kid and he had this reputation of being kind of an android."

Jon reaches over and uncaps the lube, handing it over before pulling Ryan between his thighs. He waits until Ryan's slicked up his fingers to draw his knees up, planting his feet flat on the mattress.

"So people laughed at him sometimes. _I_ laughed at him sometimes." Jon's voice breaks on the last word as Ryan's pushes one finger into him, moving shallowly, just enough to feel the burn and pull inside. "Nothing too mean, really. He was nice, but so, so serious. His band was a little funny and lots of people weren't sure how they got where they were."

"Oh?" Ryan arches his eyebrow and presses a kiss to Jon's knee as he pushes a second finger in, drawing it all of the way out and using his other hand to drizzle lube directly onto Jon's cock and between his legs. A lot gets on the sheets. Jon reminds himself to leave a humongous tip before they check out. "That guy sounds like a douchebag."

Jon nods and lifts his hips off of the bed with a groan as Ryan pushes his fingers in fast, all the way to his knuckles. "A lot of people thought so," Jon rasps. "But he wasn't. He just had a lot to deal with, like a lot more than anyone should."

"How did you work that one out?"

"He was having trouble with his guitar pedal and guitar tech on the same night. Shitty situation to be in." Jon props himself up on his elbows and shrugs a little, watching as Ryan twists his wrist.

"Did you rescue him? Were you his knight in shining armor?" Ryan asks. He wraps his hand around Jon's dick and strokes.

Jon's breath is coming faster now, and it's getting hard to talk. "Didn't need-- he didn't need one. But I'm a handy guy and I like helping out."

Ryan chuckles and rubs his thumb right below the head of Jon's cock at the same time he curls his fingers inside, making Jon jerk his hips and squeeze his eyes tight. "Open your eyes," Ryan says, and Jon obeys immediately with a shiver.

"Anyway," Jon continues with effort, little gasps punctuating every other word, "I fixed his pedal. I helped him out and I figured that would be it. But then he smiled at me and it was beautiful. I didn't know he even had expressions and then I was faced with this stretched-out wide grin and with his eyes... Your whole face lit up, Ryan."

That makes Ryan smile, too, again, and it matches Jon's memory exactly. The more things change. Ryan pulls his fingers out and crawls up to lick his way inside Jon's mouth again, curl their tongues together, and Jon feels lucky, so fucking lucky.

"I fell hard and I haven't gotten up since," Jon says against Ryan's mouth, his eyes slipping shut again because this is too much. Ryan doesn't ask him to open them again, not when he pulls back and Jon can hear the condom wrapper rip, not when he hears slick latex rolled out, not even when Ryan pushes inside Jon, this time Ryan's cock opening him up instead of his hand.

And Jon -- Jon feels wide open, all raw feeling and nerve endings, and he doesn't hold back any noises he wants to make as Ryan fucks him. He moans when Ryan pulls one of his legs over his shoulder, curses loudly when Ryan goes as deep as he can, and nearly comes untouched when Ryan says, rough and desperate, "Jon, Jon, _come on_ , please look at me again."

Jon's eyes flutter open and he's rewarded with the sight of Ryan with his mouth open and a trickle of sweat running down his face. When their eyes lock, Ryan surges forward, nearly folding Jon in half as he snaps his hips, the press of his fingers against Jon's thigh and hip hard and bruising. Jon curls his own hand around his dick because he _needs_ and he's chanting Ryan's name after two strokes. Ryan bends him even more and presses their foreheads together; Jon thinks maybe he's supposed to break now but all he wants is to give and to give and to give.

"Jon, _fuck_ , thank you. God, thank you for telling me. Mine, you're _mine_ ," Ryan declares and Jon discovers how effective one little word can be when he comes in a hot rush, over his belly and chest and Ryan, who's pulses inside when Jon squeezes around him. They're all over each other now.

They pant together for a few moments, Jon trying to keep Ryan there just a little longer. Then Ryan sighs and carefully rolls away, making Jon wince in the process.

There's a strange, heavy silence of the room, the aftermath of things gone unspoken finally being said out loud but they've been here before and that was scarier. With every new revelation, Jon is more sure of himself and fuck if he doesn't feel confident right now. He pulls Ryan toward him and presses his nose against the side of his throat, inhaling deeply.

"That was awesome," Jon says. "I don't know about you but I could really go for a cigarette right about now," and Ryan laughs so hard his whole body shakes. Jon grins and grabs his pack from the nightstand, offering Ryan one too.

Ryan takes it and lets Jon light him up. Jon watches, transfixed again as Ryan takes a long, slow drag, rolling onto his side and stretching across Jon to tap off the ash.

"Do you think the grandmothers of the world with flammable hair are safe now that I'm in here with you?" Ryan asks, pressing himself against Jon's side.

"No one's ever safe while you're around, Ryan Ross," Jon says, and he means it, even though he really doesn't.


End file.
